


Heaven and Earth

by appending_fic



Series: Guardians Rise [6]
Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pooka tradition dictates the giving of deep, personal gifts as a proposal.</p><p>Legend states that El-ahrairah gave his beloved her heart's desire to propose.</p><p>Jack isn't going to be shown up by some stupid mythical rabbit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mission

Human tradition dictated a diamond ring - costing at least three months’ salary. Jack wasn’t certain what his salary was, but suspected he’d be expected to find something on par with the Hope Diamond.

But Jack hadn’t wooed Bunny the human way, and wasn’t about to propose the human way.

Pooka tradition said that one gave gifts to one’s beloved. It was traditional to give gifts related to deep passions and desires - seeds for the one who gardened in the quiet of the night, sheet music for the one who danced when no one was around, and the like.

But Jack had read that El-ahrairah had, when pursuing his mate, moved heaven and Earth to present her deepest desire.

Jack refused to be showed up by some silly bunny god.


	2. Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has questions.

“So,” Jack said, “Tell me about the Golden Age.”

Miss Susan rolled her eyes. “Jack, I do have important things to do.”

“Come on, you’ve got all the time in the world!” Jack protested. There was a long pause, during which Miss Susan raised her head from her books and glared at Jack.

“That wasn’t funny, Jack,” she said coolly.

“Aw, what’s the point of dating the personification of time if you can’t make bad jokes about it?” Jack replied. After the space rabbit revelation, learning that Miss Susan got freaky with Father Time (or whatever the counterpart on the world she hailed from) was the weirdest thing he’d learned since becoming a Guardian.

“Still, if you make another joke about it, I’m going to knot your legs behind your ears - stop smirking like that, Jack. I know exactly what you’re thinking, and if you keep that up, I’ll make sure you won’t be tempted to think about sex for the rest of your eternal life.”

Jack let his grin drop off his face; the thing about Miss Susan’s threats was that it was impossible to tell how serious she was. But he always listened, because he didn’t want to find out.

“Still, can you tell me about the Golden Age?”

Miss Susan gave Jack a look. It was a hardened look, one that always made Jack feel like she was probing his innermost thoughts. At last, she nodded.

“In most worlds, you’d think of the Golden Age as...the age of heroes. When the intelligent races finally began to succeed in their endless war against the hordes of darkness. When people first tapped into the forces of light, love, and the like to defeat the things that lurked in the shadows.” She waved her hands vaguely as she spoke.

“And do you have a sly quip about that?” Jack asked.

Susan took a deep breath. “No. I’ve told you, Jack, those things are important. This world wasn’t perfect, but it was...well, the birth of everything that makes us all people, human or not. It was the first strike against the forces of chaos, evil, and despair. And in time, every monster was locked up in the Great Prison. You’ve seen it, of course.”

Jack shivered. The Great Prison alone had been a massive, unearthly place filled with ghosts and misery; joined with the black hole that had sucked up most of the world’s dreams, it had been more than enough to inspire nightmares in the year or so since the Guardians’ last great battle.

“Not all of them,” he said, though, and Miss Susan tilted her head. The last crisis had been caused by the Auditors, creatures who governed the rules of physics and the like, who thought creatures with imaginations were contrary to the functions of a tidy universe.

“Point. Still, the fact remains, there were no monsters. And General Kozmotis Pitchiner set himself to guard it.”

“Of course.” Miss Susan shot him a questioning look, but Jack shrugged. He’d been thinking a lot lately, and had begun to gain suspicions about certain things...Pitch, especially.

“And then he got his soul eaten by Fearlings, right?”

Miss Susan snorted. “Maybe. Frankly, I doubt it. From what Katherine’s told me, there’s something of Pitchiner in there. Enough to react to a picture of his daughter, at least. And he still has much of his own intelligence. When other people become Fearlings, they lose themselves in fear. And...” She glanced sidelong at Jack. “The others have talked to you about this, Jack. What are you hoping I’ll tell you?”

“If Pitch reformed-”

Miss Susan looked at Jack with her particular piercing gaze. “Jack, I know this isn’t something you want to hear, but sometimes, hope can become destructive. If you push on, hoping for something when time and again you’ve been disappointed-”

“Sometimes it works out,” Jack said. The interruption actually seemed to give Miss Susan pause; Jack wondered if anyone had ever interrupted her before. But the point remained. Whatever point Miss Susan wanted to make, Jack wouldn’t hear it. He’d hoped for three hundred years, and Bunny had descended into the afterlife and opened up the world to Jack.

Miss Susan licker her lips, pausing as if seriously considering her next words. “Jack. All of the Guardians have tried to reform Pitch at one time or another. But sometimes, when someone makes a terrible choice, they would rather keep making it than admit they were wrong. Even if you brought Pitch entirely back to himself, he might not believe reform is something he wants, or is capable of. Nothing can change a man that quickly, Jack.”

There was an undertone to Miss Susan’s speech Jack didn’t want to think about right now, about how the same thing that went for reform also went for falling. Pitch wouldn’t have fallen if a part of him didn’t want to bring the Golden Age down around him.

“Well, then I’ll just be the next Guardian to fail,” Jack retorted. “No harm in that; it’s good company.”

Miss Susan pressed her lips into a tight line, but offered no further comment.

\---

A flash of cool air heralded Jack’s arrival in their burrow. “Hey, Bunny,” Jack said in a sing-song voice. “I brought a present.”

Aster’s nose twitched. “You didn’t need to tell me that,” he replied. “I can smell it from here.”

Jack huffed and slipped across the workroom behind Aster, bending down and wrapping his arms around Aster’s shoulders. “Well, I got this for you, instead of finding you’ve eaten all of my candy.”

Aster wasn’t too proud to let the flush wash across him. “Sorry, mate. It’s just the cocoa.”

“I know.” Jack reached back and then tossed the little package onto Aster’s workbench, neatly avoiding the paint pots. “I’ll admit I didn’t know going in this I would be dating a sneaky little chocolate thief-”

“Not real chocolate,” Aster murmured around the peanut butter cup that had, somehow, found its way into his mouth. He glanced at the package; he could save the rest for later. “You know what real chocolate does to me.”

“Hm,” Jack said thoughtfully against the top of Aster’s head. “Not in the Warren.”

Aster twisted his head to look up, dislodging Jack. He looked at Jack carefully. “You alright, mate?”

“Just...thinking,” Jack replied quietly. “Bunny, do you think hope can be destructive?”

Aster turned around on his stool and reached up to brush a hand across Jack’s cheek; it hurt seeing Jack so uncertain. “No, never, Jackie. What brought this on?”

“Miss Susan was talking about Katherine,” Jack said. “And...Pitch.”

Aster felt a familiar pang at the mention of Pitch. “Hoo. When you ask big questions, you don’t do it by halves.” He took a deep breath, trying to clear some of his muddied emotions regarding the whole Pitch/Katherine debacle. “Look, I don’t...he killed a lot of my people. That’s, practically water under the bridge. It’s the whole...Fearling thing. He doomed others to a worse fate than the one he got. That’s not...sometimes I don’t get why she thinks he can be reformed at all. But hoping, Snowflake...it gives her comfort. Strength.”

“But you don’t think he can be saved.”

“No, Jackie. What happened to Pitch, to my people...that's til death.”

His heart was with heavy with the words he’d never voiced, the truth that Aster had long ago given up hope. Jack seemed to understand, hugging Aster close as silent tears trickled down his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is not turning out as happy or exciting as the others. Expect a lot of angsting and internal reflection, because that's what's going on here. I think an alternate title for this, though, would be 'The Love Song of E. Aster Bunnymund', because a part of this is exploring his and Jack's relationship while Jack is getting on with...whatever it is he's doing.


	3. Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack visits North, and a quiet night at home.

North glanced up at the knock. “Come in!” He wasn’t certain who it could be. Phil knew not to bother him in here, the elves didn’t knock so much as run into the door, and he knew the distinctive knock of all of the Guardians-

Jack swung the door open and offered North a hesitant wave. Ah. Jack, who never knocked.

“What is matter, Jack?”

“Ah-” Jack paused, glancing down at the floor. “It’s not a problem, exactly. I need you to help me make something.”

“Make what?”

“A, uh...” Jack flushed. “I need to make a present for, uh, Bunny.”

North could feel his heart soar at the words. “A ring?”

Jack scoffed. “Can you imagine Bunny wearing a diamond engagement ring?”

“Oh, well, can do lots of things,” North explained. “Very nice things with gold, mithril, and lettering that can glow in fire.”

Jack, who had a tendency to pace rooms nervously, paused mid-step. “Why would Bunny put a ring in the fire?”

North shrugged. “Don’t know. Got idea from book. Thought I would try. But no ring? You maybe go for bracelet?”

“I’m not - it’s not an engagement ring or anything. I need you to make a sword.”

“A...” North pushed up from his desk and crossed to Jack. “What is this about?”

Jack shrugged. “I just...can you help?”

North wanted to push. He really wanted to; he was a curious man, and especially so with his friends. But there was something in Jack’s stance, his face, that suggested he wouldn’t give up the game.

He agreed, and three days later presented Jack with an elegant sword, a two-edged blade with a subtle arc. A dark opal was set in the pommel, and the handle molded to Jack’s hand. Jack took the blade and swung it in the air a few times, a studious and thoughtful look on his face.

“Fancy,” Jack said.

“I modeled it after Rainbow Blade,” North explained.

“What now?”

North felt a spark of excitement at the opportunity to tell this story. “Legend has it that at the end of the Golden Wars, the armies despaired of ever defeating Fearlings. No weapon could harm them. But General Pitchiner traveled to edge of universe, where he helped a distant world fight an evil that had long haunted it. For his bravery, the ruler of that world, the head of one of the greatest Constellations, forged the Rainbow Blade for him. It was the first, and greatest, starlight blade, and turned the war for the better.”

Jack whistled. “Nice. What happened to it?”

North winced. “That is...not so nice. Pitch, in his first fits of madness, returned to that same world and slew the Constellation that once helped him. The force of the blow, however, shattered the blade into pieces.”

They fell silent at the revelation, Jack waving the sword slowly while North gave a silent moment to the great weapon, and the genius who had forged it. He had always hoped that the shards of the Rainbow Blade might have someday been reforged into a weapon to equal it. It had seemed sad, to him, that a tool for the light, so well-made, would have been lost.

“You called it the Rainbow Blade. Shouldn’t it go all rainbow-y?”

North chuckled. “No. Legend says it would burn with all colors of rainbow only when held by truly righteous man. Besides, without seeing the original blade, cannot replicate enchantments.”

“Well, it’s amazing,” Jack said. He stepped close and gave North a brief, enthusiastic embrace. North froze, startled at the show of affection. Jack was excitable, but rarely was this affectionate with anyone other than Bunny. “Thanks.”

“Jack,” North called as Jack bounced for the door, causing Jack to pause. “Tell me how it goes?”

“Hell, yeah,” Jack replied.

\---

Something smelled excellent. Aster padded his way inside the burrow and toward the kitchen. There, he found Jack, apron-clad, dancing around the kitchen and singing to himself as he tossed a salad. A thick vegetable stew bubbled on the stove, and Aster smelled...holy dooley. Carrot cake with...the barest hint of cocoa.

“That smells heavenly, snowflake.”

Jack froze and turned slowly. He grinned weakly at Aster. “Hey, Bunny.”

“What’s all this?” Aster asked.

Jack shrugged. “I know we don’t usually make a fuss, but it is our anniversary, and I just wanted to make something special.”

It was in fact Halloween, which would make it their anniversary (give or take a day, there had been a lot of time zone crossing that day) by any stretch of the word. Aster suppressed a sigh; if he’d known Jack were planning something, he might have put in a little work himself. Or taken a bath before dinner.

But Jack didn’t seem to mind, just directing Aster to the table as he finished the last of dinner. And he kept giving Aster long looks, smiling vaguely and not even trying to look away nonchalantly, as he did even when the two of them were alone.

“All right, what’s going on?” Aster demanded.

Jack started and nearly knocked his glass over, catching it at the last moment. He glanced up at Aster, still grinning a little stupidly. “I just remembered how lucky I am.”

Aster’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Not just because you’re great - which you are, Bunny, absolutely. But just the...being alive a second - third - time, having a place, a purpose. It’s amazing, you know? We’re here, Bunny.”

Aster had been startled before, but, well, Jack’s words struck him. He’d known for some time that he and Jack were more alike than he might have thought at first, but hearing Jack say this sort of thing always gave him chills. It wasn’t just hearing Jack so casual about how much he cared for Aster, but also hearing his awe at his mere existence. Jack knew hope close to as well as Aster did. So Aster, instead of replying, just tugged Jack close and tucked Jack in close to him. For a few minutes, they stayed there, Aster reveling in the unfamiliar sensation of sheltering Jack, instead of vice-versa.

And then Jack pulled back, still smiling a little stupidly. “I’m going to put these away, okay?”

Aster nodded, watching Jack go as he stumbled with the plates and cutlery. And when he was done, they retreated to the bedroom. It wasn’t a night for passion, but rather one for quiet companionship, the two entwined on the nest of pillows and blankets.

It didn’t stop Jack from planting lazy kisses along Bunny’s neck whenever it occurred to him, or Aster from absent-mindedly rubbing his chin along the top of Jack’s head, but that was as easy as breathing, a wonder in and of itself.


	4. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack learns about teeth; and Aster shares his past.

“So, Tooth, what can I do with this?”

The palace was wide, open to the elements, and as a result, the other Guardians made a habit of popping in. Tooth had sometimes wondered if she should install doors or something to keep them out. But that’d be a hassle. And, well, she loved her friends.

So she paused in her work and glanced over at Jack. She’d expected - well, she didn’t know what she’d expected. She hadn’t expected Jack to be holding a bloody tooth.

“Oh!” She fluttered to his side, staring at the crack bicuspid, blood-stained and poorly cared for. Something about it seemed odd, inhuman. “Jack, you didn’t take this from some kid’s pillow, did you?”

Jack shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that, Tooth. But...I’ve got a question. The teeth. You don’t just keep their memories for them. Do you?”

It wasn’t a secret, exactly, but Tooth had always felt it was good to keep a few things to herself, sometimes. She suspected the other Guardians did the same. Still, she wasn’t about to lie.

“Jack, this is old magic. You get a piece of someone - hair, a tooth, whatever - you can control them. And teeth hold memories.”

“I know.” Jack tried to tug the tooth back, but Toothiana had a grasp on his arm, and she wasn’t about to let go. “Miss Susan told me-”

“Jack, whose tooth is this?” A sharp little pang struck her heart. “It isn’t Aster’s, is it? You haven’t been using dark magic on him? Or - or hypnotizing him?”

“No!” Jack snapped, tugging the tooth back and slipping it into a pocket. “Jeez, Tooth, calm down a little. I’d never hurt Bunny. It’s Pitch’s tooth; you knocked it out of his mouth. And you said I could control him. What else could I do? Could I use it to kill him?”

Tooth felt conflicted. This was old magic, dark magic, but...Jack was her friend. She had to trust him.

“Jack. It’s not control. It’s not death. It’s subtle and dangerous. It’s...”

“Tooth. I need your help.”

Jack sounded so serious. Tooth knew this wasn’t some joke, or idle curiosity. It was her responsibility to ensure things didn’t go horribly wrong.

\---

“Tell me about it,” Jack murmured one night. As was habit, Jack was basically treating Aster like a large, warm pillow. They were both lazy and content from a day of hard work, training, and the comfortable companionship of the other.

As a result, it took Aster a moment to reply. “What?”

“Your home,” Jack said. He nuzzled an ear, sending a shiver along Aster’s spine. “I read a bit about it, but I think you’d tell it better.”

Aster let the silent moment stretch on as he considered. It was an old hurt, but a hurt nonetheless. But in Aster’s dreams of the old world, Jackie was always there. Maybe sharing it would help, not to make the dream a reality, but to give him a little comfort.

“It was a lovely place; green thumbs come naturally to pooka. ‘Swhy I named flowers after the pooka I knew. I...you know, I never really took to gardening until after Pitch. Painting, either. I grew up hearing about General Pitchiner. I wanted to be a hero, like him. Wanted people to tell stories about me...” Aster could feel his heart sink at the realization. “But I wanted the other pooka to be around to hear them.”

Jack’s embrace tightened around Aster, doing little to ease the hurt, but grounding him, at least, in the present.

“I spent most of my time training with my mates - Protea, Delphinium, and Gladiolus-”

Jack’s warmth receded for a moment and Aster saw the dim shape of Jack hovering over him. “Bunny? You didn’t have - I mean, before the war...”

Aster chuckled. “I was practically still a kit when Pitch...you know. No time for romance, either, Jackie. Jealous?”

“Curious,” Jack said, dropping back down. “So you were always a little hell-raiser? Getting into fights instead of studying your painting? I bet your parents didn’t know what to do with you-”

“Not by half,” Aster murmured. He hadn’t appreciated them, either. Rose, and Lily, had been patient, understanding of Aster’s grandiose dreams. “My pa, Lily, died in one of the last battles. My mum...I hope she did, too.” He’d bound up all that longing and uncertainty into the flower he’d granted his mother’s name. “They’re all as good as, anyway. I could hear it.”

A gentle hand running down Aster’s arm kept him from delving too deeply. “What does that mean?”

“Pooka sing, Jackie.”

“What? I’ve never heard you sing! And you make fun of me for singing in the shower,” Jack retorted, indignant. “Did you have a secret band or something? Do you play the guitar?”

“Rack off,” Aster said. “It’s not...well, I’ve got a fair voice, but that’s not what I meant. A pooka’s soul sings a song, one other pooka can hear. Four billion of us together made such a harmony, even when there was discord in it. We were never alone, Snowflake. Until I was.”

“Oh, Bunny,” Jack whispered; the subsequent embrace almost tight enough to be uncomfortable. “Can I hear it?”

“Hear what?”

“Your song,” Jack said. “I’m a fan of music.”

“It’s not - it’s not like a-” Aster’s voice stuttered in time with his heart. “It’s not like a theme song. Or it sort of is, I suppose. But with variations. Reprises. Different for when a pooka’s happy, sad, angry, in love...”

“So sing it for me,” Jack pleaded.

Aster stared at Jack’s sharp blue eyes and swallowed, suddenly nervous. It was ridiculous; they’d been together for two decades, and Aster knew Jack loved him. But among humans, he was used to knowing they couldn’t hear his true self.

Still.

It was Jack. The only person who knew about the song at all. Who loved him.

Hesitantly, with a voice rusty from disuse, Aster began to sing along with his soul’s song, matching it as best he could. He couldn’t share the ethereal tones, the harmonies that went with any one pooka’s song. Jack, however, looked on with awe throughout the entire thing. When Aster’s voice faltered and died, Jack leaned back in and rubbed his chin against the top of Aster’s head, in an imitation of a pooka chinning.

“So, you ever hear anything from me?” Jack asked.

“All the time, Snowflake,” Aster said. “When you’re cooking, gardening, showering-”

“Shut up!” Jack said, shoving at Aster, laughing as he did so. “You’re one to talk, singing to the entire universe all the time.”

Sharing hurt. But sharing with Jack had, indeed, helped. It would never be easy. Being with Jack, though, made it easier.


	5. Empathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack visits Katherine, and Bunny tries to figure his mate out.

“Come in.” Katherine set aside her quill, allowing Mr. Qwerty to retreat to the upper corners of the room, as her visitor entered. “Jack. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Jack shrugged and flushed but didn’t meet Katherine’s eyes. She didn’t push. She knew he didn’t feel at home in Santoff Claussen. It meant this wasn’t a social call.

Jack didn’t speak immediately, which turned this into an interrogation. “What brings you here, Jack?”

“Pitch. Or Pitchiner.” Jack sat on the edge of Katherine’s desk, which gave Katherine a few moments to compose herself. Every other Guardian had, at one time or another, talked to her about Pitch. She didn’t look forward to this one.

“Jack, I don’t want to argue about this.”

“Why...do you think you can redeem him?”

Jack still wasn’t looking at Katherine. He didn’t sound accusing, but rather, hesitant. Inquisitive.

“Because I see flashes of him, Jack. I’ve seen him hurt and human. I know what it’s like to feel lost and confused.”

“I’ve...heard him laugh,” Jack said quietly.

Katherine jerked her head up, staring wide-eyed at Jack. “I thought-”

“It’s the snow, you know?” Jack conjured a snowball and tossed it up and caught it. He offered Katherine a bright smile. “It makes people have fun. It reminded him, for a moment, of happier times.”

Katherine nodded. Of course she knew that. She’d never thought about what it meant, though. Like the picture of his daughter, the snow had awoken something human in Pitch. But unlike the picture, there could be so much more than a moment. “Jack, do you think-”

“No. Not enough snow in the world, Katherine. It’s not about laughter for him. But I want to know why you really think it’s-”

“Because it could happen to any of us!” Katherine snapped. “He fell into darkness in a moment of weakness! That long alone...can you imagine it? Can you imagine resenting the people who put you there, even if it was your own idea? And then hearing the voice of the person you love most begging for help? I don’t...sometimes I don’t think he’s possessed at all. I think he broke under the strain, and exposure to Fearlings. I think he feels he’s gone too far to ever ask forgiveness.”

“I don’t believe that,” Jack said. “He controls them. I don’t think that’s something an ordinary man could do. But I agree about the rest. And...I didn’t just come here to talk, Katherine. I wanted you to help me making something.”

Katherine stared at Jack. “Jack, that’s a sword.”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Jack concluded. “Katherine, you’re going to have to trust me. Do you?”

She looked at Jack, really looked at him. He was the Guardian of Fun, of Laughter. He protected people from paralyzing fear. He was the opposite of Fearlings, and their existence must have rankled him. But he had never tried to hurt Pitch, never tried to end him, the way the others had. She thought...he might understand.

\---

Aster watched Jack fly out of the Warren before settling back to work. Jack had been squirrelly for weeks. Well, not squirrelly. Jack wasn’t evasive; Aster knew he’d been spending time with the other Guardians...and the kids, of course. Aster didn’t spend as much time around them, although he did sneak out for occasional tea parties with Sophie.

Aster approved of it. Jack had been alone for so long, it made Aster feel warm knowing he’d found companionship outside of their home.

It was strange to think how much the Guardians were similar. So many of them were lost and lonely in different ways. So it was natural they huddled together, drawn close by their common loneliness. Trying to shelter the children from the same sorts of hurts.

But Jack. It was hard to predict him, no matter how long Aster had known him. It was probably the nature of his center; Aster was steady and reliable because Hope was supposed to be so. But it didn’t mean Aster ever gave up trying to figure him out.

It was like a puzzle, sometimes. Jack didn’t always see things the same way Aster did, and forgot to share, even when he wasn’t trying to keep a secret. He hadn’t had anyone to share with for a long time. It helped when Jack did have a secret; he had no idea how to be sneaky, having spent 300 years invisible, and wasn’t used to lying, not having had a conversation with anyone for that entire period. It was sort of hilarious; Aster would tell him one of these decades.

But, well, Jack had a secret. Aster thought he knew the sprite well enough that Jack wasn’t up to anything bad. He certainly wasn’t sneaking around on Aster. So it was either a hobby he was embarrassed about or a surprise for Aster.

Given that Aster had caught Jack singing Journey in the kitchen, and had shared his soul-song with Jack, Aster hoped Jack wouldn’t still be afraid of Aster’s reaction to a little hobby.

He’d considered, once or twice, that Jack might be planning to propose. It’d been some time since, in response to Jamie Bennett teasing Jack about marrying Aster, that Jack had given him a response of a playful, “not yet”. He was certain, though, that Jack would’ve been more straightforward about it. They both knew how the other felt. They both knew they were in this for the long haul. Jack surely knew Aster wouldn’t expect a fancy ring.

So it was a puzzle. Puzzling, certainly, and Aster maybe worked a little slowly, distracted from his experiments. He was a little quieter at nights, letting Jack chatter on without interruption, watching him, trying to puzzle out the mystery of the man he loved.

Something he was going to be doing for the rest of his life, if he had his way.


	6. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack talks to Mother Nature, and then to Bunny, about love.

Mother Nature knew the name Serafina well. She had carried it along with many others for some time. There was a connection there, the name she most often used, aside from that one pseudonym.

She knew, vaguely, that she needed such reminders of her once-humanity, just as she needed the few bonds she forged. Katherine, whose heart was so caring, and Jack, whose laughter was carried by the wind-

Speaking of Jack, he was calling out to her. Curious, Serafina answered the summons.

Jack was sitting at the edge of his pond in a circle of space cleared of snow. He smiled at Serafina as she materialized from the wind.

“Greetings, Jack Frost.”

“Hey.” Jack stood. “Is is Mother Nature? Or Serafina?”

Serafina shrugged. “Either. Both. Neither. Serafina will do.”

Jack nodded, but looked unconvinced. “I...can you answer a question?”

“Yes. Whether it will be enlightening is less certain.”

“Oh, jeez. It’s going to be one of those conversations.”

Serafina sat on the snow, and tugged Jack down to be level with her. “I’m sorry. My mind...isn’t what it was. Or it’s different. Scattered. Spread out. I know more, but to access such knowledge is difficult.”

Jack sighed. “Well, might as well. Are you really Pitch’s daughter?”

Serafina bent her head, considering. So he was asking hard questions. “I...am much his daughter as he is still my father. You all became spirits through a personal connection with your center. I, and Pitchiner, were transformed by powers greater than ourselves. We have been changed in many ways. My mind, for example, is spread across all that nature is. I make sure the world strives toward balance. What does that mean to Daddy’s little girl? What does that do to her?”

Jack was frowning in thought, considering Serafina’s words. At last, he shrugged. “I guess I wanted to ask about your...feelings. You love him. You tried to protect him from the Guardians, right?”

“Not as a daughter any longer,” Serafina replied. “A father protects and shelters, allows one to grow. No child can view a man as a father who has brought a world of darkness to her. But I...would not see him hurt. I would see him redeemed, if such a thing is possible, or brought peace from the darkness that envelops him.”

“So...yes?”

“Yes,” Serafina agreed. “But those feelings have changed since I was a child of the Golden Age, as yours and your mate’s will in the passage of time.”

“What?” Jack scrambled to his feet, scowling at Serafina. “Bunny’s not - our feelings aren’t going to change!”

“Aren’t they?” Serafina rose after Jack. She reached a hand out to his shoulder, but Jack shrugged it off, still frowning. “Jack. I don’t mean to hurt you. But you yourself intend to change things. Do you honestly expect to feel the same about your husband as you do your boyfriend?”

“I...” Jack fell silent as he considered Serafina’s words. She took a moment to supervise a low-pressure system drifting across the eastern United States, nudging it just enough off-course to keep the meteorologists guessing.

“You don’t think we’ll fall out of love?”

“I can’t see the future, Jack. But everything changes. Everyone and everything. Nothing can return Pitchiner to the man he once was. This would be true even had he not opened that prison. It does not mean he would be a worse man as a result, or a better one. Just...a different one. And I would love him differently than I do the one he is now.”

Jack didn’t move for a long time. When he did, it was to stand and tap at the ground, opening a tunnel. Before stepping into it, he looked back at Serafina, smiling. “I’ll make sure he knows that,” he said.

Odd, Serafina thought as Jack vanished to the Warren.

\---

Jack was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a spot stained with pink dye ages ago. He didn’t look up with Aster entered.

Aster tried to make noise approaching the table, but Jack gave no indication of having heard him. “Jackie?”

Jack finally glanced up, smiling weakly at Aster. “Hey, Bunny.”

Aster stepped close, uncertain about Jack’s mood, whether he wanted to be alone or needed comfort. “You alright, mate?”

“Do you think this’ll ever change?” Jack asked. At Aster’s puzzled tilt of the head, he elaborated. “You and me.”

“What’re you worrying about that for, Snowflake?” Aster slid into the chair across from Jack, reaching out for Jack’s hand. But Jack didn’t respond to the gentle squeeze of his hand. “Jack?”

“I was talking to Serafina. She said our relationship was going to change, Bunny. I don’t...I love you, and I don’t want that to change. I...” He shook his head, and Aster could see the tears tracking their ways down Jack’s cheek. Unable to keep his distance from Jack’s obvious distress, Aster stepped around the table and took Jack into his arms.

“Jackie, it’s not going to...I love you, and that’s not going to change. But...people change. People grow. We’ve both changed since we first met, and that’s a good thing. I love you, though. You love me, right?” Jack nodded quickly, desperately, and Aster smiled in response. “The only way we’ll grow apart is if we don’t make the effort to understand each other. Change isn’t bad, Jackie. Surely you’ve had a few changes for the better.”

Jack chuckled weakly. “Yeah. One time this bunny asked me to leave behind a really neat place to help him out. Turned out pretty well.”

“So you see?” Aster nudged his muzzle under Jack’s chin. “We gotta accept things’ll change, but that doesn’t mean it has to end badly. It doesn’t have to end at all, Jackie.”

Jack sniffled quietly, but Aster could almost hear the burgeoning smile on his face. “You sure about that, Bunny?”

“Course I am. You and me, Jackie, are going for the long haul. Or are you sick of me already?”

“Never, Bunny,” Jack hiccoughed. “You’ll have to kick me out.”

“And try to lug all those books out of your library? God forbid.”

Aster knew the easy joking, more than anything, was the quickest way to cheer up Jack, and Aster’d do anything to raise his mate’s spirits.

And that wasn’t going to change.


	7. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack remembers something he'd forgotten about joy, and Bunny reflects on how the two of them have fun.

Jack stared at the sword. The air around him was bitterly cold, but the sword’s steel remained only mildly cool. He closed his eyes and concentrated, and the temperature plunged. Steam rose from his skin, and even the water on his eyes cracked and froze for a moment. Still, though, the sword remained far warmer than steel in an intense chill should be.

“Why isn’t this working?” he shouted to the sky. There was power in the blade, not just in the forging that Nick had made, but the tooth set in the pommel, and the whispered spell Katherine had placed into it, the words ‘I believe’ now etched into the metal. He knew Serafina had done...something, but what, exactly, he still couldn’t figure out. It was Jack’s turn, and it wasn’t working.

You couldn’t fight fear without laughter.

“Holy - it’s freezing!”

“It’s winter; of course it’s - JEEZ!”

Jack didn’t glance up from his work, even though he recognized the voices. Jamie and Pippa, come in the hope of finding him.

“Hey, Jack. Why’s it so cold over here?” Jack could see the dim shapes of the kids approaching, both hugging arms tight to try to stay warm. “Hey, is that a sword?”

“Yes,” Jack replied, unable to focus on the kids. He passed a hand over the blade, watching as it momentarily frosted over before returning to its regular shade.

“What’s it for?” Jamie asked. “Fighting a monster?”

“Sort of.” Jack scowled at it. “I don’t suppose you know anything about enchanted weapons?”

“I’ve heard of Excalibur,” Pippa offered. “I don’t think I know anything about making them, though.”

“My mom says I’m not allowed to use steak knives without supervision. I think the same applies to swords,” Jamie added.

Jack sighed and stuck the sword into the snow point-first. “Well. Maybe I need to give it a rest.” As he relaxed, the temperature rose, slowly, to match the surrounding forest. He stood and ambled over to Jamie. “So, what’s up?”

Jamie grinned. “No, I wanna hear about this sword.”

“You’ll hear enough later,” Jack said. “I’m sick of thinking about it. Come on, why’d you come up here?”

Jamie shrugged. “We were bored.”

“And we thought you might be taking a break from Aster,” Pippa added.

“Break?” Jack asked. He gave the two of them a narrow glance. “Why would you say that?”

“You spend a lot of the winter hanging around here,” Pippa said with a shrug. “Well, or other places. It’s okay; my dad says if he didn’t have Monday night football at his buddy’s house, he wouldn’t know what he’d do.”

“Well it’s not like that,” Jack retorted, feeling his stomach tense uncomfortably. “This whole winter thing is what I do, hanging out and having a good time. We’re both going to spend weeks painting eggs in a couple months, so I might as well get outside while I still can. Besides,” he added, winking, “there’s nothing better than curling up with my Bunny after spending a day in the cold.”

“Ew,” Jamie said, wrinkling his nose.

Pippa just rolled her eyes. “It’s not bad, Jack. Come on, do you want to come sledding? Cupcake’s tied like six sleds together.”

Jack gave the sword a last glance and shrugged. “Sure. Sounds like a good time.”

When the sun set, hours later, and Jack returned to the pond to retrieve the sword, it was to find the blade covered in frost. After that, it never seemed to fully warm, retaining the sheen of chilled metal.

You couldn’t force laughter, or fun. These things were spontaneous, born of the surprised moment of joy. So all it had taken was letting go for a while, and just having fun.

\---

There were other spirits that seemed to believe Jack and Aster didn’t have much in common, ultimately, that their relationship was held together only as long as they kept each other interested, physically.

It irritated Aster to no end.

Not just because such spirits sometimes took that to mean trying to poach one or the other out of the relationship (and most seemed to try to work on Jack, rather than Aster). But also because assuming so made it clear they thought so little of Jack and Aster.

That Jack was incapable of thinking beyond the next moment of fun. That Aster couldn’t lighten up.

Of course it was true that Jack was...excitable, and could get a little high zipping around the Warren, the same way Aster got a little focused on his chores and could forget his surroundings (Jack made a sport out of seeing how much stuff he could pile around Aster without the pooka noticing when Aster got involved in painting).

But Jack had taken to painting well; he preferred sketches and carving to Aster’s abstract egg work, but happily lent a hand during Easter. And if a few frosty, fernlike eggs went out, well, the kids knew Jack spent a lot of time with him. Aster did, however, for the sake of avoiding embarrassment, pretend the box of sketches of him hidden under a stack of books in the library didn’t exist.

And in the early winter, Aster managed to follow Jack out to play with the ankle-biters. They always seemed a little tongue-tied around him, but Aster suspected it was because he’d let himself become a sort of mystery, like Tooth and North. His practice with boomerangs made him first choice as a team member in snowball fights, something Jack pretended was a great offense, but seemed secretly pleased about.

And look, Jack had taken to reading. Like, a lot. The library, in fact, kept bleeding into other rooms, a fact that was a little worrying and had Aster speculatively considering what other space he could give up to his mate’s biblioholism. He liked talking to Aster about Aster’s many feats of engineering (although he refused to believe Aster had invented the train). He liked sharing his random facts with Aster, although this sometimes degenerated into him shouting trivia about Earth rabbits from the next room, growing more and more lewd until Aster threw whatever offending tome Jack had into the river.

So they got on fine. They enjoyed each other’s company. They spent some time apart, for the sake of moments alone, and interests the other didn’t quite share.

And yes, there were intimate moments. Jack was, for all his temporal age, stuck in a teenager’s body, and Aster was...well, something like a rabbit. They weren’t, thank you, rutting like bunnies; it was far more often more comforting to relax in the other’s proximity, tangled together in the nest. But in the months before they’d sealed the deal, it’d been Jack’s body distracting Aster, so yes. There was that, which could be passionate, tender, playful, and lazy at any one time.

But they didn’t need it to have fun. They had plenty of other things to do.

Didn’t mean Aster wouldn’t miss it if they stopped, though.


	8. Hope and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's missing from the Warren, and Jack seeks out Sandy.

Aster paced a wide circle around his kitchen. He couldn’t explain how, but he knew something was wrong. Of course, the Warren always felt empty when Jack wasn’t there; the guardian eggs weren’t good conversationalists. But this was worse. The place felt...dead. Or at least slumbering deeply.

Aster decided, since it wasn’t quite the solstice, he could afford to spend some time trying to track down the disturbance. He started in the library because it had become the room most unfamiliar to him; Jack, at the least, had an unfortunate tendency to store strange arcane things in here (nothing alive anymore, thankfully. Neither of them still had any idea where mogwai came from, but Aster’s money was still on Australia).

This search turned up nothing unusual. There were a few books on Pooka, a storybook from the Golden Age (copied, obviously, for the good condition it had), and some scribbled notes about Dream Sand. Aster even risked the secret box, which contained nothing other than a series of sketches of Aster, ranging from simple studies to more...personal images. Blushing, Aster shoved them all back and left the library. He then began a more orderly search, ranging from his storerooms to his workroom, to the arena. Nothing in any of these spaces seemed to suggest the source of the uneasy feeling.

But returned to the Burrow, Aster stopped. The paint river. It wasn’t as bright or varied in shade as it normally was. As faded as it was, it looked dull. Brownish.

Aster bounded to the river’s source, the cave set in the side of a hill, the one in which he’d concealed the last of the Light, the first Light, from the start of the universe. The egg container was there, but was empty. Aster stared at it for a long time.

The others knew he still had this, but no one knew it was here except Jack. But his mind kept skipping when he tried to imagine what Jack could need the Light for. There’d been no mention of monsters, no worries from the other Guardians.

Jack had just stolen the Light from the Warren, and Aster couldn’t conceive of a reason.

Aster slumped down next to the empty shell, absently stroking it as he stared at it. It wasn’t quite despair, but a pained confusion, bewilderment at what Jack thought he was up to.

He wasn’t even certain what to hope. That Jack would return it? But why had he taken it? That Pitch or something else had stolen it, instead of Jack? That it had gone out?

So, lost, Aster remained in the cavern.

\---

Sandy’s accusatory glare gave Jack pause. He glanced down at the pommel of the blade, lit now by a flare of pure white light, and he looked back up, hoping he looked properly contrite.

“Look, I needed this. I’m just borrowing it, anyway.” Jack stepped forward. “But I need your help, Sandy. I need this sword to be able to go into dreams.”

Sandy stared at the blade for an interminable moment, and then he tilted his head inquisitively at Jack. Jack sighed. “I’m going into dreams. I got some incense from Katherine.”

Sandy raised his fists and took a fighting stance, making Jack chuckle. “Yeah. But I need you to stay behind. You need to make sure nothing happens to me. And I’ve got to do this alone.”

Sandy summoned a small rabbit out of his sand, surrounding it with the outline of a heart.

“Yeah, you got that right. It’s a surprise for Bunny. But I gotta get this done quick; I really don’t want him to worry.”

Sandy shrugged and snagged the blade with a sand whip. He held it, flat end up, and focused. Golden sand swirled around the sword, enveloping it for several moments. When Sandy finished, he looked up at Jack with a triumphant grin and raised the sword. It had a strangely mottled appearance, like sand shaped by waves, and Jack could see flecks of gold embedded in the steel.

“Thanks!” Jack said. He snatched the blade back and waved it back and forth a little, disappointed when it didn’t seem to have any rainbow tint. When he looked away, Sandy was giving him a considering look. Jack tried to grin, but it felt fragile. He’d been planning this, but the thing was, he wasn’t certain it was going to work. He was only half sure of what he was going to do.

“Sandy?” Jack asked. “If I go into dreams, what happens if I die there? Will I be okay?”

Sandy’s expression took on a more serious edge. He floated closer, eyes fixed on Jack. At last, he shrugged, but reached out a hand to brush against Jack’s cheek, his concern clear.

“I...it’s dangerous, Sandy, but it’s worth it. I just wanted to know what I’m risking. If I don’t come back-”

He stopped and shook his head. That wasn’t the way to think. He’d never thought that way. He grinned, instead. “Well, never mind. I’ll see you in two shakes of a Bunny’s tail.”

It took a little while to set up the incense, but when it was done, it took only a moment to slip into the trance and into the world of dreams.

As Jack had expected, he appeared in a dream-projection of the Great Prison, a looming building of dark metal or stone, marked with the names of its prisoners, most worn to illegibility over time. This was the place that haunted his dreams. The place where Pitchiner had lost his soul.

And it was time to end it.


	9. Last Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation in the world of dreams.

The prison was as he remembered it, a sprawling, impossible maze of corridors that seemed to shift when he wasn’t paying attention. Roars and screams echoed through the place, as if some monstrous beast lurked within. But Jack knew this was merely the sign of Pitch’s presence somewhere deep within this dream-world.

Jack wasn’t wandering aimlessly. The tooth set in the blade’s pommel could guide him, drawing him close to the creature from which it came. It was actually helpful; Jack had expected to be able to track Pitch from the sense of fear, the absence of joy, that he projected, but something about the dream-space confused his senses. It would seem to be in one direction, and then Jack would sense the flare of darkness in another.

Suffice to say, without the blade, he would have been hopelessly lost.

Time moved oddly in dreams, but Jack knew even taking that into account, he walked through the prison for a long time. It was strange; he had expected defenses. Monsters, figments of Pitch’s imaginations, taunting figures of the Guardians, rejecting Jack or being consumed by darkness.

Not...this empty place. Jack shivered at the thought that this might really be what Pitch was, a soul empty of anything except the bones of his last life.

He wasn’t certain how long it really was before he found it. A room with vaulted ceilings four stories high, with a floor, unmarked by age as the rest of the prison, polished to shine like a mirror. A throne room a hundred feet long, with a dais at the far end. It was simple, a throne twenty feet tall and topped with two asymmetrical spikes, one sharp and coiled, the other short and sharp.

A man sat sprawled across the throne, hook-nosed, pale, strange and tall with yellow eyes. He didn’t look up when Jack entered the room, not moving even as Jack approached, feet scraping against the polished stone.

The man looked smaller as Jack drew closer, and sadder. Perhaps Katherine was right, and Pitchiner lurked, mourning within his own mind.

“Pitch,” Jack said, and the man looked up.

A crumpled expression of disgust crossed the man’s face. “Another illusion to remind me of my transgressions,” he muttered. “Go away.”

“I’m not-”

“Go away!” the man screamed, lunging from a lazy sprawl to a seated pose, hunched forward in his rage, in an instant. “I’m sick of it!”

Jack stepped back, some of his confidence ebbing away. “Pitchiner?”

The man gave a shuddering sigh and fell back against the rear of the throne. “It isn’t as if I can stop you. Go ahead. Taunt me with the pain I’ve caused you.”

Pitch wasn’t making sense. Jack had hoped there was something sensible in here, but...he stepped forward again. “The Pooka, Pitch. You can’t bring back those you’ve killed. But I need you to release those that became Fearlings. Let them die, Pitch. Give them peace. Even if it’s only the Pooka. Haven’t they suffered enough?”

Pitch was shaking; at first, Jack thought it was with laughter, mockery at Jack’s plea.

But there was anguish on his face, eyes clenched tight as if to avoid seeing what stood before him. “Is this what it is? You would remind me of the Pooka? Of Epona? Those destroyed with my own hand, my own mind?” His eyes snapped open, fierce as they met Jack’s eyes. “This is my penance, reliving those moments for eons. What pain can you cause I have not already experienced for a billion years?”

“Then why don’t you release them?” Jack demanded. “If you’re so remorseful-”

“I can’t.” Pitch’s head fell to the side, his eyes sliding shut as he looked away from Jack.

Jack’s hand tightened around the sword’s hilt. “I don’t want to hurt you, Pitch. I don’t.”

Pitch looked up, and Jack could see, again, the anguish there. “I can’t! I commanded the Fearlings to take them, Jack. I killed others with my own hands. But I can’t bring them to an end. Perhaps if I had embraced that power, I would be able. But I couldn’t face myself, not knowing what I did. I hid myself here, Jack, as I have since Nightlight imprisoned me within the newly-formed Earth. It was by my hand that the Golden Age fell, but nothing since.”

“Such is the way of those possessed by Nightmare.”

Jack spun around at the unexpected voice, startled to find another Pitch. But this one, Jack could see, was far more like the foe they fought in the waking world. The spiked collar of a dark coat curled around his face, marked by a permanent sneer. The yellow of his eyes was sickly and diseased, and his hands pale as bone. His hair spiked upward, in something that would have been humorous could Jack not see the gleam to them, the sheen of something unnatural coating the spikes of his hair.

The new Pitch stepped forward, and Jack caught sight of his feet, hooves, whether cloven or not, Jack wasn’t sure - he’d never quite gotten around to figure out the difference.

“It is easy, Jack, to find a man at his weakest and encourage him to do terrible things. But so hard to make it persist, to convince him such darkness is his way. But to convince a man who has betrayed everything he stood for to retreat in penance and shame, to allow him to abandon his body to whatever should wish to possess it? That is easy, Jack.”

Jack scrambled back. This thing, this version of Pitch, was more threatening than anything Jack had met, in waking or dreams. For one, he had come here expecting to fight Pitch. He’d made the sword to strike at Pitch, to shock his spirit into some sort of sense.

“You’re...Nightmare?” Jack asked. He had seen reference to such a thing, he knew, but nothing had ever elaborated. He had no idea if the sword would help, would even work as a weapon against the creature. He wished, briefly, he’d brought his crook with him.

The Pitch laughed, a high, mocking tone, and the Pitch behind Jack sobbed. “A fragment, a shard. Enough to take a lesser creature and make him my shell. The whole of Nightmare, Jack, could corrupt a god! But all it took was a spark of me to tempt this man into opening that door, into releasing all the evils of the world upon the Golden Age. A spark to bring fear to life.”

“And the Fearlings?”

“The shadow I cast upon the world.” Nightmare paused, cocking his head, and then laughed. “No. No more talking, Jack. You will not get me that way.”

He summoned a lash of dark sand, whipping it toward Jack. Jack lifted the sword to deflect it, but the whip curled around the sword and scored his arm, drawing a line of blood.

Jack sidestepped as Nightmare summoned another whip; he conjured a handful of snow and hurled it at Nightmare. The second whip, acting of its own accord, sliced through the snow, sending it uselessly to either side. And then Nightmare stepped in and ensnared Jack’s leg and sent him to the ground.

Jack’s head hit the stone floor hard, and his vision went blurry. He tried to scramble up, forgetting the whip still entangling him. The next strike was with something spiked and flexible that encircled his neck. The sharp pricks were bad enough without the sudden pressure squeezing around his throat. Jack choked at the force and flailed wildly. The sword cut through both lashes, giving him enough time to get to a safer distance.

Nightmare had changed, subtly. Its eyes glowed with a dull red, like that of a forge. The coat was fraying, revealing a strange, dark form underneath it. Nightmare swung out a hand, releasing a spray of black knives six inches long each.

Jack tried to sidestep them, but the knives curved; he deflected all but one, which buried itself into his right leg. The shock of the pain left Jack gasping as blood, or the dream of blood, began dripping from the wound. His next steps were uneven, and not enough to avoid a blow from above, like being hit by a car.

Jack went flying with the force of the blow; he lost his grip on the sword, not that it had done him any good, and slammed into the base of the dais. He thought...he might have broken a rib. Breathing was difficult, and trying to move at all hurt. He could see Nightmare, now hulking, more than ten feet tall, bursting out of the elegant coat he wore. Dark fur covered its arms and legs, and its hair was more like a spiky mane.

A blade six feet long appeared in its clawed grip, and the creature smiled at Jack. “I had hoped this would be a real fight. But it seems none of you have the power to defeat me. Perhaps afterward I will kill Pitchiner, and ride both your bodies to unleash a new nightmare. Dark and cold working together...I like it.”

There was something worth thinking about somewhere in that speech. It was just so hard to think. Jack thought the dream of wounds might be worse than real wounds, somehow; his vision was blurring again. Or possibly had never cleared.

And then he had it, or a shape of something like it. “Why...haven’t...you killed him...yet?” he gasped. “When he...remembered his...daughter. When he was...coming back?”

“Shut up!” A clawed hand swiped across Jack’s face, drawing blood and setting his ears to ringing, but as long as Nightmare was talking, he wasn’t killing Jack.

“Only one...way to do...that,” Jack wheezed. “But...you’re scared. Of what...Pitchiner might...do.”

“I am not frightened of anything.”

A laugh interrupted the conversation. Jack didn’t need to look back to know what was happening. He had heard the sound once, when he had struck Pitch with his magic in the real world. It was real laughter, Pitchiner finally getting the joke.

“What is so amusing?” Nightmare demanded.

Jack heard the sound of metal drawing away from something. He glanced back and saw Pitchiner raising the sword in front of him, examining it with a careful eye.

“I hadn’t recognized it at first. You wouldn’t; you’ve never seen it before. One of the few things I kept from you.” He stepped away from the throne, bringing the blade to a ready position.

“The Rainbow Blade?” Nightmare demanded. “Shattered and broken across your precious Epona’s dying world!”

“No one creature could have made that blade,” Pitchiner said, as if he hadn’t heard Nightmare at all. His eyes were distant, and, Jack noticed, gaining a silver tint. “It took seven, working in concert, to make the first. There was a chant, a spell, to guide the ritual.” His next words had a strange, hypnotic quality, heightened by a lilting, amelodic tone.

“Forged by the one who sees only the wonder in the world, and seeks to share it

Shaped by one who knows only the truth that dwells deep inside each of us

Guided by one whose pain is knowing so well the hearts of others

Honed by love that transcends the boundaries of space and time

Lit by one whose hope cannot be questioned or moved by any force

Perfected by the joy that is the greatest weapon against fear

And together, this blade is imbued with the magic that can slay any shadow.”

Something strange happened as Pitchiner spoke. Jack could see flashes of light along the surface of the frosted blade. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet...on the last word, however, flames exploded around the blade, imbued with all the colors of the rainbow.

Pitchner stared at it in wonder. Jack just stared. Only a truly righteous man...

Nightmare swung at Pitchiner, but the blade moved on its own, not merely blocking the blow, but cutting through the claws making the attack.

Nightmare howled, dragging its hand back as shadows trailed from the wound, like a creature bleeding underwater. The monster scowled and lunged forward, arm bending around Pitchiner’s block to bury its claws into his side-

The flames danced down the blade, down Pitch’s arm and intercepted the claws, sublimating them like ice in a volcano.

Arms melted into tentacles, one wrapping around Nightmare’s dark sword, and the creature lunged again. Pitchiner met the blade with a resounding crash, the rainbow flames matching a dark tentacle with one of rainbow light, and wrenching it from Nightmare’s body.

Jack realized, somewhere in the blaze of pain, that Pitchiner wasn’t moving as much as you were supposed to in combat. He was holding a single position-

He was standing between Nightmare and Jack.

Nightmare launched into the air, huge bat wings sprouting from its back as it did so, bearing it down on Pitchiner, who did not dodge, did not let the monster get closer to Jack. He slammed his sword point-down into the ground, summoning a wall of multicolored flames that set Nightmare ablaze when it crashed through them. Howling, it crashed to the ground, flesh smoking and evaporating. The creature was man-sized, now, the shadowy flesh vanishing the moment it separated from its body. Its sword was still huge, and it charged Pitchiner again. Pitchiner made ready to counter-

Nightmare flashed out of existence, appearing behind Pitchiner and charging for Jack.

There wasn’t much most people could do from a prone position in a fight.

One thing you could do was trip someone. Jack pushed away from the dais and snapped his legs out, catching Nightmare’s ankles as it drew in for a killing stroke. A little rotation, and Nightmare fell toward the throne. It landed heavily between the two spikes, and, based on its frantic struggles, was wedged firmly in place.

“You won’t win!” it howled as Pitch drew close. “You may destroy me, but I am but a fragment of Nightmare. And even then, you will never prevail, not so long as the lord of darkness lives. Even the first Guardian stood no chance against him-”

Pitchiner’s blade flared with pure white light as he plunged the blade through Nightmare’s heart. There were no dramatic last words, no explosions of light or similar dramatics. The creature simply dissolved into black goo that spilled over everything within a ten-foot radius.

“Ew,” Jack said after he got the worst of the stuff away from his mouth and eyes. He looked up, cautiously. Pitchiner, covered in the strange goop, had knelt before the throne, sword-point down. He seemed to be saying something. After a moment, he rose, and gave Jack a hesitant smile.

“I do not know how to thank you,” Pitchiner said. “I had abandoned all hope of ever being free of that thing.”

Jack shrugged. “It was all of us, really. We all pitched in with the sword-”

Pitchiner’s chuckle cut Jack off. “Wonder, memory, empathy, love, hope, joy, and dreams. Yes, that would do it. But this was not for me. I know that, and yet I am still in your debt.”

The acknowledgment that Jack had come for the sake of the Pooka race roused Jack, unsteadily, to his feet. “Nightmare said it was just a fragment - does that mean-”

“Its death would have been a shock to every Fearling that walks the Earth,” Pitch said, with grim satisfaction. “It would strip away the darkness enveloping them and give them peace at last. And knowing Nightmare, he set all of his minions to seek your body when you fought him in dreams.”

Jack nodded. It was something of a relief to know he’d succeeded, despite everything, but it was bittersweet. Certainly, the Pooka were free, and his...vague memories of the life after assured him it was far better than being a Fearling, but Aster was still alone, the last of his people.

He looked up to see sympathetic eyes watching him. “I am sorry, Jack. Of all the monstrosities committed with my face, that is one of the few for which I am responsible. I was so...bitter, Jack. To enjoy none of the world I had fought for, to be so far from the ones I loved-”

“I know,” Jack replied. “You couldn’t bear them being so happy when you were miserable. You couldn’t bear seeing a world you couldn’t enjoy. I get it.” Now wasn’t the time for the rest of it, but it would be good to see Pitch discover his center, to understand what had driven him.

“I think it would be good, though, if you left my mind now,” Pitch said.

“Can I come see you?” Jack asked. He drifted close to the general. “It’ll take time for the others to see it, but if you’re good now-”

“No. I am leaving, Jack. I...there must be absolution for the things I have done, and allowed to happen.” Pitch’s head was bent low.

“But you killed Nightmare-”

“A fragment. A shard. And I have let loose such other horrors upon the universe. There must be a reckoning before I am allowed redemption, if I should be worthy of it.”

Jack knew there was no point in arguing. He could see the set in Pitchiner’s shoulders. And maybe they needed time to see a world without Pitch before they got around to forgiving him. Except... “Um, could you maybe leave me the sword? I sort of...borrowed the Light from the beginning of the universe to make it.”

Pitchiner glanced at the pommel and chuckled. “Oh, Jack.” He passed his hand over the pommel, and drew out a spark of light, as bright as the one that remained there. At Jack’s shocked look, he laughed again. “I think even your Bunny never understood the nature of this thing. How can you diminish Hope by spreading it? How can Hope be divided? This artifact is as infinite as the Sand of Dreams. But I would prefer to keep my blade.”

Jack nodded, and let his consciousness drift back to wakefulness. He offered one, “Good luck,” before leaving completely.

And then he returned to the Palace of Dreams, where Sandy stood, tendrils of golden sand retreating, uncertainly from a defensive circle that divided Jack and he from the creatures that had apparently swarmed the Palace when Jack slept.

Jack was, for one of the few times in his life, completely speechless.


	10. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world changes, in more ways than one.

The world shifted. Like an earthquake, the ground underneath Aster seemed to shudder. A surge of something warm shot through him; it took a few electrifying moments for Aster to realize it was hope. Not the normal ebb and flow of hope, but...

It was like the first time he’d felt it, going from feeling none of it to feeling all the hope in the world. But the sensation couldn’t be replicated, unless the world’s hope had been so buoyed...

Aster couldn’t even think properly. He couldn’t imagine such a surge in hope. Sometimes, little pockets of the world had moments where their world changed and they saw such brightness in the future, but everyone, all at once?

It was followed a moment later by...

Song. Hesitant and rusty, like a band that hadn’t played together for decades, but it was unmistakable, chords and melodies wrapping together that shouldn’t meld and mix, but still producing the most wondrous orchestra Aster had ever heard.

He stumbled out of the little cave and outside; someone caught him, and he heard murmuring words. “Hey, Bunny, take it easy. I’m here.” But Aster couldn’t stop shaking. He saw shapes scattered across the glen of the Warren, but his eyes wouldn’t register them. They were impossible.

A voice cut through the haze, making Aster sit up straight and to attention, through long conditioning that even eons of solitude couldn’t erase.

“Aster. Sit up straight and introduce me to your young man.”

The reality of it came crashing down on Aster. He started sobbing, his whole body wracked by the shock of what he was seeing. Another form drew close to him, and he felt long, familiar arms wrapping around him and Jack. “Shh...” The soothing words did nothing for him, but they rode out the sobbing, the quiet, recovering stage of uneasy hiccoughs, until Aster could look up and meet sweet green eyes he hadn’t seen in practically forever.

“Mum,” Aster said shakily.

Her smile was wide and genuine. It was too surreal to be a dream; Aster had never imagined them coming back to him. He’d never thought of a moment of being embraced at once by Jack and his mother.

“How-”

“Long story,” Jack said. “Oh, and here.Sorry I had to borrow it without asking.” Aster numbly accepted the Light, not so distracted he couldn’t see there was something different about it. Fiercer, somehow. More color to it, he thought. It was something he could worry about later, he decided. There was a more important question at hand.

“What’s this all about? Whatever this was, I would’ve helped, Jackie, if you’d asked.”

At that, Jack drew away from Aster. His cheeks were flushed, and he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away from Aster. “I...sort of needed to do this without you, Bunny. You see, I read...well...some of your stories talk about how El-ahrairah moved heaven and earth to give his beloved her fondest desire.”

Somewhere in the background, Aster heard someone coo. He hadn’t heard any of their voices in ages, but suspected strongly it was Delphinium. His mind was still sort of skipping tracks, so it took him a moment to form a reply.

“That’s right, Jackie, but that was for a marriage pro-”

Aster’s mind shut off for a second. It was the only explanation. “Wait. What?”

Jack was grinning at Aster, smile nearly as wide as his face. “Sounds about right.”

“What?” Aster demanded.

Jack rolled his eyes and drew closer, grabbing both of Aster’s hands. “I’d move heaven and earth for you, Bunny. Will you marry me?”

Aster’s mind was still skittering, scrambling for grounding. “You didn’t need to-”

“Yeah. I did. Yes or no, Bunny?”

“Well, of course I’ll-”

Aster didn’t get out more than that before Jack kissed him, shutting him up and earning a series of cheers from the assembled Pooka. Aster could have sworn he heard Gladiolus and Delphinium arguing over who was going to be best man, even though Gladiolus was a girl and North would try to fight the winner for the honor anyway.

That could all wait for a little while, though, even though Aster still had questions for Jack. The lad had moved heaven and earth already; he could use a little rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, at last, it's done! By which I mean this story. I'm just so glad for everyone who's read and commented on this and hope you've enjoyed the ride.


End file.
